Poetry
Danielle Mckinney, Mercy (detail), featured in AGNI 103
Featured
Exit Poll
Cautiously, I slid the curtain back on the silver rod
as I would when stepping out from a shower, soaked,
Sea Lung
Your finest hour.
When you were no longer you.
An ideal dissolution, so to speak.
A mere unknown, forging forward
Mihalis Katsaros in the Craving Clutch of the Moon
Sometimes we wake with a cave in our chest,
a dwelling we call Look here with me and weep.
“If war”
If war
is a film
it’s not necessarily horror.
In my case
Squinting to See the Faces
My mother’s eyes, my father’s nose and teeth. My father’s curls, his earlobes, my mother’s upper lip. My second-grade face still resides in my 64-year-old face . . .
Fuckery
A year or two ago
I drove my car
to one of the half-dozen
places I go and a spider
A Portfolio of British and Irish Poems
Cross-pond tidings from 2006.
“We offer the following selection as a kind of postcard: brief yet informative—and one we hope will provoke further investigation.”
From the Archive
Skinhead
Dead Reef
Meanwhile
Night in August
Someone is smoking in the lavatory / and one of the flight attendants says / shit and she gets on the mic and says / whoever this is will be prosecuted / to the fullest extent of the law / upon landing while I’m writing / I hate ballpoint pens / with a ballpoint pen because / they don’t spray my period-brown / ink all over . . .